“Meet a man three different times and you will meet three different men,” may have been a famous quote by Ben Franklin. Or Officer Escobar might have made it up himself. He wasn’t sure. Either way, he felt it was true. In the morning, when baked goods are at their freshest, he was pleasant, cheerful, occasionally even buoyant. Later on, typically around 8 PM, which just happened to be closing time at the Dough-Re-Mi, his mood tended to droop.

Wondering if it might be the same for the woman who uttered macabre gibberish late at night and practiced persuasive speaking in the morning, he decided to try hitting Simon Park Station in the afternoon.

The traffic was worse than during the morning rush. Commuters on their way to work are tired, but they’re also orderly, trying to get into a business frame of mind before getting to the office. People coming home are even more tired, and if you’re the only thing standing between them and the freedom to fling off their ties, kick off their shoes, dump their briefcases and plop down on the couch, you can hardly expect them to be polite.

Escobar waded through the eager crowd of people, most mere minutes away from blissfully mindless, television-induced inactivity. Once inside, it took him only a few seconds to locate her pillar. He appreciated consistency. Whether they were perps, informants, or just persons of general interest, the easiest people to deal with were always the ones that never moved.

Naturally, as soon as he thought this, the woman stood up and strode purposefully toward the nearest pedestrian.

Officer Escobar was not prepared for this situation. Unpredictable women, while fascinating, have the problem of being difficult to predict. He had no idea what would come of the encounter. He did not know if she would talk of bees, mysterious adventures, or both. What he did know was that, as a cop, his patience and his tolerance for the weird were much higher than those of the average citizen.

Dying to find out what was going to come out of the strange woman’s mouth this time, he edged closer, positioning himself to prevent any disturbance. Whatever she had to say, he doubted the commuter would be interested. The only reason the average telemarketer doesn’t end the day with a broken nose is that you can’t punch someone over the phone.